


those great whites

by thesilverdoe_1



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Competitive Allura, Drinking, Drunk Allura, F/M, Fluff and Humor, bed sharing, the oh no there's only one bed problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverdoe_1/pseuds/thesilverdoe_1
Summary: Allura gets drunk and says things she'll probably regret.“Your fangs are so cute,” she states. “Especially when you have that look, like you’ve been caught off guard.”She pauses.“Did I just say that out loud?”





	those great whites

**Author's Note:**

> 1) this is barely beta’d.  
> 2) title taken from a lorde song ( _green light_ )  
> 3) i’m so sorry.

The fun with Allura starts, as it so often does, with a challenge.

“I can _too_ hold my Nunvill!” she proclaims, hair falling down around her red, flushed cheeks as she slams her empty cup down on the counter. His lips twitch upwards in amusement.

“I’ll have you know, Lotor, that you may have lived for centuries, but I have had ten thousand years of cryosleep to prepare me for this. I won’t need to pass out until I’m dead.”

After a long journey of smooth talking and maneuvering the less familiar terrain of this universe, they now find themselves merely “chilling” — as the Earthlings would say — in another reality, attempting, on Lotor’s lofty but logical suggestion, to obtain another transreality comet he’s picked up on in his readings.

It had taken a lot of convincing, as Allura had been very keen on never setting foot into another evil Altean reality ever again, but once he’d reassured her many times that no two realities are ever exactly the same, she eventually decided to take the risk.

(Convincing the others, especially Coran and the blue paladin, to let them go on this quest was another thing entirely.)

The Unilu tending to the bar comes down their way at this time. Allura thrusts her cup forward over the counter without taking her eyes off Lotor and demands, “Another!” Once the Unilu worker refills her glass with the special mix they are serving, she thanks him and takes another swig, smacking her lips as she sets it back down.

“I must say, Allura, I’m impressed,” Lotor tells her with a slight bow of his head. “I would not have expected the daughter of King Alfor to be so well practiced in such matters.”

“Well,” she huffs, her nose in the air. “She is. And she _can_ hold her Nunvill — probably better than you can.”

“Is that a challenge?” he asks, leaning over towards her with a smirk. He raises his glass between them and waits. Her call.

“Maybe.” Her lips quirk, as though trying not to look too pleased with herself. Lifting her own glass, she clinks it against his and downs half her drink.

They have the entire night ahead of them here. As it turns out, in this reality, neither the Galra nor the Alteans are the oppressors. That title belongs to another alien race — the Warloms — and if they are not careful, the transreality comet will fall into the wrong hands.

Although they have managed to find the _Other Alteans_ of this universe, there are very few of them left. The ones that still exist to fight the good fight have formed a strong alliance with the Pirates of Unilu. It had been Allura’s suggestion to ally themselves with them as well.

Which is how they ended up here, at a dark, hidden bar of a secret pirate ship, parked securely in a secret wing of a space mall.

“Whoever can handle their Nunvill best, gets to take the bed,” Lotor proposes.

Her mouth falls open. “I thought you said you were a gentleman who would never let a Princess sleep on the floor.”

He takes another swig of his drink. “Once you’ve entered into a challenge with me, for the next twelve vargas starting now, you will no longer be seen as a princess, but as a worthy adversary.”

Allura’s right eye twitches. He feels a smile pull at his lips but keeps his face impassive instead.

“But wouldn’t it be more considerate for the one who ends up in a worst condition to sleep on the bed?” she points out.

“Oh. Are you concerned you’ll be that person, Allura?” he asks, smirking as her mouth falls open in response.

“Not at all,” she snaps. Picking up her glass, she empties the rest of its contents into her mouth before slamming it back down on the counter. “I’ve said it before: I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“Well, then, Princess,” he grins as the Unilu worker refills her drink. “You should have nothing to worry about.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

She’s flustered, he can tell. Beneath her aggressive and confident exterior, her shifty gaze and oscillating speech patterns belie a nervous energy and a thirst to prove herself. It would be easy for him to write it off as an aftereffect of Nunvill, but upon closer inspection, hints of her symptoms had started long before they began drinking.

Upon their arrival, they had discovered that the transreality comet has been floating around in the territory of the Warloms. Until they could convince some of the Alteans and the Unilu here to provide them backup, Lotor and Allura had decided to keep a low profile with them for the night.

“There’s just one complication,” the captain of this ship had told them then. “Because many members of the crew frequently come and go, we only have one room left for tonight. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

_“Uh — well, actually—” Allura begins at the exact same time Lotor says, “Not at all.”_

_The two of them blink and turn to look at one another._

_Her posture is different. Although she stands just as tall and upright as she always does, there’s a visible tightness to the way she now holds herself, shoulders stiff and tense._

_“Allow me to put your mind at ease, Princess,” he offers with a slight bow of his head. “I’ll sleep on the floor. You take the bed.”_

_Allura’s eyes widen. “Are — are you_ sure _?”_

_He gives her a one-shouldered shrug. “What kind of man would I be if I let the Princess of Altea sleep on the floor?”_

_“Oh. Well, if you insist—”_

_“We’ll take the room,” he tells the Unilu._

The tensity and tightness he’d noticed from before persists in her demeanor now. She’s trying, he can tell, trying so hard to keep herself together, to maintain the same ironclad rigidity she’s displayed since — well, since Lotor’s met her. To his great amusement, however, with every tick that passes and every glass she finishes, her entire posture begins to unravel, becoming looser and looser by the dobosh.

It’s easy. Allura is by no means a lightweight, but in her impulsive haste to prove herself, she’s already five glasses ahead of him and it isn’t long before she starts to sway in her chair, her elbow slipping off the counter as she tries to regain her groundings.

“You are _so_ behind, Lotor!” she shouts at him, even though he can hear her just fine over the crowded noise of the bar. Her hand is suddenly on his shoulder, giving him a playful but not so gentle shove. “Catch up!”

Truth be told, he already feels the effects of _catching up_ in his mind. A mild and pleasant numbness overtakes his senses as he downs the contents of his current glass. Mollified, Allura grins at him and slams the counter, yelling, “Get this gentleman another!”

It’s… strangely charming. Although it’s not the first time he’s seen Allura in a good mood, this looser and more giggly version of her is a thrill to watch.

“There’s no need to rush, Princess,” he says as he takes the next drink she thrusts into his hands. “After all, we’ve got all night.”

“How many glasses have you had so far?” she presses.

Lotor thinks back. “This is my twelfth.”

“Well, I’m on fifteen!” she exclaims, taking another sip. “Get on my level.”

“This challenge was never about speed,” he says, though he downs his next cup and asks for another. “Although now I’m not so sure you would have made it to the next day if it was.”

“ _How_ does your hair stay so beautiful?” she asks suddenly, reaching up out of nowhere to twirl his cowlick around her fingers. The movement catches him by surprise and he leans away on instinct.

Nobody has ever touched his hair.

“Mine is all crimped up now from having it up in a bun and helmet all day.”

She pouts and blows a puff of air up, ruffling stray strands of her own hair that had fallen in her face.

“You touched my hair,” he states, still quite in shock. His head is finally feeling the dizzying effects of the many drinks he’s had and he wonders if maybe that’s why he finds that he doesn’t quite mind what she just did. That he would possibly even be okay with it if she did it again.

… That maybe, he would possibly even _want_ her to do it again.

“It just isn’t fair,” Allura declares in conclusion, arms crossed and lips upturned.

And he would be lying if he didn’t think it was cute.

“While I understand and recognize that genetics has indeed blessed me with great hair, I think your hair looks fine despite having been up in a bun,” he offers.

“But yours is _amazing_ ,” Allura cries out, staring at his locks, half-fascinated, half-envious. Her words grows longer and begins to slur. “When you took off your helmet at Oriande — my hair can only ever _dream_ of achieving such — such—”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he clucks teasingly.

 _“Excellence!”_ she blurts out. Swaying in her seat, she leans in until her nose is only inches away from his. “I just want to…”

Without warning, she threads her fingers down his hair, her half-lidded eyes gazing at it in wonder. Every inch of him seems to have frozen up. An electric buzz travels from her fingertips, sending a shiver down his spine and a prickly sensation tingling at his scalp.

Lotor clears his throat, but it does nothing to snap Allura out of her reverie. She leans a little closer, lips parted and eyes barely able to remain open.

And it’s not the first time the thought of kissing her has crossed his mind, but considering how she is clearly about to fall asleep… it’s a no. He can’t let it happen like this.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough to drink,” he declares, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her up with him.

“What? No!” she protests as she tries to wring her hand free from his grasp. “I am not finished yet — I’m barely drunk. I _will_ prevail!”

“I apologize,” he tells her before emptying the rest of his drink in one gulp.

“For what?” she snaps, planting herself back down in her seat and refusing to budge.

“For this.”

And without further ado, he places one hand around her wrist, bends his knees, and lifts her up over his shoulder.

“Sorry, sir,” he mutters to the Unilu bartender, who’s eyebrow is raised in confusion at them. He leaves a about 700 GAC on the counter, hoping that it’s good enough, and walks on.

“Lotor, you will stop this now,” she commands, her fists beating down at his back. “Put me down this instant!”

“Princess,” he says with a smirk. “The sooner you accept defeat, the easier this will all be.”

“Never!” she shouts.

He makes it to the exit of the bar, passes a few wandering Unilu and other-reality-Alteans who give them questioning looks, when he suddenly feels a hard kick to his stomach.

The room spins before he realizes what’s happening and in the next tick, the both of them are sprawled out on the floor in the hallway, his back and hip aching from the impact. The ground is cool against his cheek and his head throbs painfully from the disorientation.

“What did you do that for?” he grumbles, attempting to push himself back up. Lotor is quite sure that if he weren’t so drunk, she could’ve kicked him a thousand times and it wouldn’t have been an issue. But alas, he can feel the Nunvil finally starting to seep into his brain and settle in, dulling his senses.

A soft, whining moan cries out in response. Lotor turns his head to look at Allura. Eyes closed, her face is scrunched up in pain as she hugs herself in a fetal position on the floor. An approaching Altean woman stops at the sight of them before moving to step around her. He vaguely registers her shaking her head in disapproval as she walks away from them.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks, voice softer this time. Reaching out, he pushes back her great mane of hair away from her face as he studies her current state.

“Hnnmmgghhh,” she moans again, though she nods vigorously. It’s endearing that even when she is close to passing out, she still won’t admit she’s going to lose.

Another person tries to pass through them. After giving them an apologetic smile, Lotor turns back to Allura and tries to haul her up.

“Come now, we should move from this hallway,” he says, placing one hand around her waist and gripping her arm with the other. He lifts her easily up over his shoulder, one of his arms around her leg and her arm dangling over his neck.

She doesn’t fight him this time. Instead, she leans her cheek against his shoulder and closes her eyes.

“Has your hair…” she mumbles, voice barely above a whisper, “…always smelled this good?”

His eyes go wide as he stiffens, thankful she can’t see the blush threatening to creep over his face.

“Sorry?”

“And… and…” she lifts the dangling arm up and brushes her fingers across his ears. “Your _ears_. They—they’re… they’re perfect.”

She’s drunk and rambling, but that’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He just has to make it to their room and deposit her on the bed, then he can make a run for it, find somewhere else to sleep for the night, and avoid her until the strange sensations trickling down his spine at her words fade away completely.

If they ever fade away at all.

“Have I ever mentioned you’re beautiful in combat?” she continues. “It’s mesmerizing, watching you fight. So unfair. You really have a way with that sword.”

Lotor nearly splutters.

“Is that so?” he asks casually instead.

 _Remain calm,_ he tells himself. _Allura is spewing nonsense; she won’t remember this in the morning._

“I’m so sorry for being rude earlier… I was _so_ rude,” she laments. “It’s only right to balance things out.”

He knows ought to tell her to stop talking at this point, before she admits too much or says something she’ll regret later; he wouldn’t want that on either of their consciences. However, against his better (and still-not-quite-sober) judgement, he lets her keep going.

“I was just so nervous,” she says. Her words come out slightly muffled due to her smushing her cheeks against his shoulder pad but Lotor hears them all the same. He sees the door to their room down the hallway of the sleeping quarters and thanks the universe they’re almost there.

“It’s nerve wracking, this entire trip. What if the Alteans here were evil? What if we fail the mission? What if we never make it back to our reality? And to make matters worse, I have to share a room with you?”

“Worse?” he asks, coming to a stop in front of their door.

“ _Yes_ ,” she whines. “Sometimes you make me so nerv—”

Allura stops mid-sentence and opens her eyes.

“We’ve stopped. We’re at — we’re—”

She blinks. Twice. He can visibly see her process everything as the reality of her surroundings sinks in.

“No,” she says. “No! I haven’t lost. Have I lost? Please say I haven’t lost. I refuse to accept this! I haven’t, I haven’t!”

He stumbles against the wall as Allura starts writhing, doing her best to wriggle out of his grasp. He opens his mouth to remind her she’s going to fall if she succeeds when with one particularly aggressive kick, she wrings an arm and a leg around his neck and drags him down to the ground with her.

“Allura, please,” he begs her. He tries his best not to laugh at her expense but she’s making a hard case of it as she scrambles to stand up and tackle him head on.

He catches her wrists easily but she whips her head up in an attempt to headbutt him. Luckily, he’s a little more sober than she is, and manages to lift his chin in time before her head can make contact.

“Remind me to never let you get drunk again,” he says, though his tone is light and teasing. “Get up. You need to drink some water.”

“I’m completely fine!” she insists, wrenching her fists from his grasp. The sudden twist of movement away from him unsteadies her balance, and Lotor has to reach out to catch her again before she hits the floor.

“Careful, Princess,” he chides sofly. By instinct, her arms had thrown themselves around his neck during the fall and he finds himself once again nose to nose with the princess. She blinks up at him, eyes wide with surprise — though surprise at what, he can’t say.

“Your fangs are so cute,” she states. “Especially when you have that look, like you’ve been caught off guard.”

She pauses.

“Did I just say that out loud?”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” he assures her, unable to keep an amused smile from tugging the corners of his lips. “I heard nothing.”

She sighs in relief. “Oh. Good. I haven’t been able to stop staring at them since we met.”

“You’re falling asleep, Allura,” he informs her. “We should call it a night.”

“‘We?’” she repeats, blinking.

Lotor forces himself to break eye contact and look away. Making sure she’s secure in his arms, he straightens up and lifts her to her feet with him.

She clings on tightly to his arm as he punches the touchpad on the wall. The door slides open, revealing a sparse, low-lit room with a nook of a bed at the far wall. He drags her with him towards the bed and sits them both down upon it.

“N-no…” she mumbles as she registers the mattress beneath them. “I — I lost. I accept my defeat. I’m sleeping on the floor.”

Pushing herself away from him, she slumps down to the floor clumsily and lays there, unmoving.

With a sigh, Lotor stoops down and places his hands on her shoulder.

“It’s just a game, Allura,” he says as he tries to lift her up. “And not even a real one, at that.”

Stubborn and unbending as always, she resists his efforts to pull her back onto the bed, doing her best to stay glued to the ground. For the next few doboshes, she continues to drag her weight down, and every time he does manage to pick her up, she pushes out of his grasp and sinks back to the floor.

“I will not cave to pressure,” she insists, her eyes already closed, barely clinging awake. “You will not give me an out from this punishment just because I’m a girl.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he sighs. “Get up.”

“Don’t _tell_ me what to do,” she snaps, more slur than speech. Without warning, she suddenly uncurls her body and lunges herself at his neck, pinning him down on the bed and throwing weak, half-hearted punches at his chest.

“I’ll do — as I — please,” she says, puncturing every blow with a word.

He leans his head back and rolls his eyes; she’s too drunk for any of her fists to actually land a painful hit so he figures it’s best to let her tire herself out further.

After a few more ticks, Allura stops.

“Finished yet?” he asks, turning his head back to look up at her.

“N-no…” she mouths sleepily.

“You know, Princess,” he says, a light smirk playing on his lips as he props himself up on his elbows. “This is a decent solution too.”

He gestures with a shift of his eyes to their current predicament and watches as a faint shade of pink blooms across her cheeks. Reaching out, he pushes her hair back behind her ears and lets his fingers weave through it all the way down to its ends.

“And for the record,” he says, curling a strand around his fingers as he leans in to whisper into her ear. “I think you have the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”

He pulls back, but not too far — just far enough to hold her gaze.

It happens quick. In the first tick, her eyes are on him, heavy and intense. In the next, she closes them, moves forward, and covers his lips with her own.

The kiss is clumsy and wet, and her mouth slides carelessly against his as she surges forward with her tongue, and he isn’t in any condition to judge anyway, his mind buzzing just as much from the taste of alcohol between their breaths. She bites down on his bottom lip; he has to resist the urge to return the favor. Instead, he tightens his grip on her shoulders, egging her on towards a progressively more aggressive pace.

Despite her drunken languor, Allura’s lips are relentless. Their teeths clash, hers pulling on his bottom lip before releasing it and coming back for more, a stunt she performs over and over again while pressing her thigh somewhere between his legs, riding higher and higher.

“Allura,” he gasps when he catches an interval. “If we — if you keep this up — I —”

She breaks away and stares down at him, her eyes dark. He doesn’t want to move — not now, when he can feel the outline of her entire body pressed against his, admire her mussed hair falling down in cascades, pooling at his chest, feel her hot breath grazing his skin…

He looks away from her at once.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he frowns. “But you are not completely yourself at the moment. I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you. And if… if anything were to happen, I’d prefer it if you were sober.”

For a full thirty ticks, he keeps his gaze low and away from her as silence befalls them. He’s about to drop his head to the mattress and close his eyes until he drifts off when he hears a _sniff_ from Allura. The sound causes him to snap his attention back onto her, fearing the worst.

He releases his breath when he sees that she isn’t actually crying.

“You’re right,” she says, looking disappointed with herself. “I — I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” He traces her jaw with his finger, letting it come to a rest under her chin. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

She pouts. “I still am _not_ taking the bed.”

“Suit yourself,” he smiles, leaning back against his elbows and watching her eyes droop. “You’re not going to last much longer anyways.”

“Don’t excuse me from my rightful punishment… just ‘cause I’m… I’m…” she yawns loudly, “… a girl.”

And with that, she lets her head drop and collapses straight onto his chest, breathing slow.

“Allura?”

He pushes her bangs up to confirm it for himself: she really did just fall asleep in that split tick of time. Eyes closed and mouth parted, her shallow breaths come steady and slow. With a fond smile, he pulls them both up in bed until his head finds a comfortable spot on the pillow before reaching over to pull the blankets over them.

The night had been… fun. Interesting, but fun. He’s not quite sure how she’ll respond in the morning once she wakes up sober and finds them in their current position, but until then, he wraps an arm around her and makes sure she’s kept warm.

He can deal with whatever consequences come. For this, it will all have been worth the inevitable storm.

**Author's Note:**

> when i asked for a prompt, loosescrewslefty mentioned in our discord chat about drunk allura complimenting lotor who gets progressively flustered so this is the result. this may or may not be my oc self insert, drunk allura… hahaha…
> 
> come say hello to me on [tumblr](https://flusteredkeith.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/flusteredkeith)!


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